


Vadeve Venhedis

by Espereth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Evil Hawke, M/M, Non-Consensual, Rape, Slave Fenris, Slavery, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: After returning Danarius' valuable property, Hawke has accepted an invitation to Minrathous. Now it seems the magister wants some help with his slave. Porn ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> What kind of scum would give Fenris back to Danarius? I did it, just to see how it would play out. (I also had Anders with me at the time... Fucking hell, Anders!! 0.o ) Then I restored a save game, killed that slave-owning, probably-a-rapist sleazebag, and took a fucking shower.
> 
> But the idea of what kind of Hawke would do this - and what would happen afterwards - just wouldn't go away, especially because I got this creepy-ass thankyou note from Danarius hinting at an invitation to Minrathous. Apparently I'm fine with _writing_ evil Hawke, just not with _playing_ evil Hawke :/
> 
> Aaanyway, this is the result. Warning for yet another eroticized rape. I'm going to the special hell.

The spires of Minrathous shone in the evening light, white stone cast in pink and gold. Hawke looked out over the ancient island city from a window seat in his apartment in Danarius' mansion. Sunset bathed the forest of structures in glorious colour. 

Hawke had a cup of wine in his hand, a bowl of olives within reach, and a slight smile on his lips. 

Yes. This was how a powerful mage - a _magister_ \- ought to live. 

An elven slave girl fussed about Hawke's rooms, plumping cushions, straightening paintings that were already straight, dusting non-existent marks from his traveling cloak. She wore only a wisp of silk around her waist, so flimsy that it might as well not have been there. Her breasts and belly shone with oil. She had been sent as an attempt to distract him. Or possibly to test him; perhaps Danarius wondered if Kirkwall's Champion enjoyed beautiful women as much as he enjoyed beautiful men. 

"Leave that," Hawke told the girl, when she moved the carafe of wine on the table near the window box. 

"Apologies, master," the girl whispered, snatching her hand from the carafe as though her fingers burned.

Hawke still did not quite understand why Danarius had invited him to Tevinter; and much as he respected the magister for his power and position, Hawke did not trust Danarius as far as he could propel him with a glyph of repulsion. Poison was not beyond him.

"And leave me be," Hawke said, dismissing the slave with a wave of his hand. "I have no need of you."

"Of course, master." She ducked her head. "Shall I send for a boy?"

"Send for Danarius," he commanded. "Tell him I did not come all the way to Tevinter to be kept waiting."

"Master." 

Hawke felt his hackles rise in irritation at the cringing tone of her voice. 

"Magister Danarius regrets that he could not meet you at once," she said. "But his business with the Merchants' Guild will soon be concluded. He will come to you as soon as he can."

The last of the sunlight disappeared behind the Minrathous skyline, and a breeze blew through the window, ruffling Hawke's hair and his silk shirt. A shiver ran down his shoulders, leaving goosebumps on his forearms. 

"Let me fetch a blanket, master," the slave girl said, and ran to retrieve one from Hawke's bed. She hesitated, watching Hawke's eyes to assess his mood, then set the blanket at his feet. 

Hawke snatched out a hand and seized her wrist, quick as a snake. He pulled her close and shook her. The fear in her eyes pleased him, and he felt a smile touch his lips.

"I told you to go," he said. "And I don't care a fig about the Merchants' Guild. _Send Danarius_."

"Yes, master," she said. Hawke released her, and she fled. 

Hawke swirled his wine in his cup, and watched the last of the light fade over Minrathous.

***

The moon was high by the time Danarius came to him. 

Hawke turned his head from the window box, not bothering to stand. One knee was bent, his wrist draped on it, and he was very comfortable. Everyone in Thedas knew that the Champion of Kirkwall lacked manners, despite his claims to nobility. They also knew that Hawke didn't care.

The magister was dressed formally, but simply, in a grey silk robe trimmed with red and gold. Fine, but not ostentatious; his dress conveyed the calm confidence of a man who had no need for pretences.

Danarius carried a staff, the shaft wound in gold thread. A blade glinted at one end. At the other, a crystal shard was set, crackling with electricity. He radiated power; mana seemed to coalesce around his body. Was he doing it deliberately? 

Hawke glanced at the corner of the room where he'd leaned his own staff, and Danarius smiled. 

"Do not be concerned, Hawke," said Danarius. "I did not summon you here to kill you."

"I'm not concerned," Hawke said, stretching his arms. "If we come to blows, so to speak, I won't need a staff to beat you."

Danarius smiled, eyes narrowing. Mana crackled at his fists. "Ah, how I would love to duel you," he said. "You must know that no mage outside of the Magisterium has received anything resembling proper instruction in his abilities. You may find yourself surprised at what that means in practice."

Hawke raised his eyebrows. "Any time you're ready," he said. "Don't wait on my account." He turned back to the window, to the city, where the light of a thousand fires - some natural, some mana-fuelled - burned far below.

Danarius sighed and stepped to Hawke's side, joining him in observing the view. "Do stop sulking, my friend," he said.

_Sulking?_

Hawke frowned, standing to face the magister; and stopped in his tracks. 

He'd forgotten how compelling Danarius was. Pale grey eyes, deep-set above sharp cheekbones. Grey hair sweeping back from his forehead, streaked with white above his ears. His beard was impeccably groomed. Hawke could not help but admire the old magister's bone structure - the man was a specimen of Tevinter breeding done right, with his tall frame and straight shoulders. In his youth, he would have been muscular, but now he was wiry and trim. That showed discipline. Strength.

"It is good to see you, my friend," Danarius said, inclining his head in greeting, now that Hawke was on his feet. He offered no apology for his extravagant lateness, safe in the knowledge that his own time was far more important than Hawke's. 

With their eyes locked together, Hawke took Danarius by his upper arms and brought him close. "Likewise." When Danarius bent his head to kiss Hawke's cheek in greeting, Hawke laid one hand behind the magister's head, the other along his jawline, and kissed his mouth. 

"Ah," said Danarius, pulling away with a frown. Hawke smirked. The old man hadn't expected _that_. "I know things are different in the Free Marches," Danarius said, "but among the Tevinter, it is not usual for free men of my standing to dally with one another." 

"I'm not Tevinter." Hawke shrugged. He cupped Danarius' head again and kissed him, pushing his tongue into his mouth. This time, Danarius matched him, rising to his challenge.

A thrill of danger settled in the pit of Hawke's belly. The wine had gone to his head. He wanted sex. He wanted to be immersed in power, subsumed in mana, the way only another mage could make him feel. He longed to test his will against a real mage, someone who could rival him, perhaps even best him. He reached out with his mind, pushing spirit energy against Danarius - only to meet a barrier thrown up in anticipation.

Danarius broke the kiss, amused. "Ah, to be young again," he said, smiling; but his eyes remained winter-cold.

"Why did you bring me here, Danarius?" Hawke asked. "I hardly think it was for this."

"Your reputation for bluntness precedes you, Champion," said Danarius. "I will get straight to the point." He gestured at the door to Hawke's chambers, which were opening to admit a slender figure in obsidian and black leather with a greatsword sheathed at his back.

"Fenris," Hawke whispered. So Danarius hadn't killed him. How interesting.

The elf paused, looking from Danarius to Hawke with unreadable green eyes. The last time Hawke had met those eyes, they had been wide with shock at the realisation of Hawke's betrayal. The memory amused Hawke, and a slight smile curled his lips. 

"Come to me, Fenris," Danarius said, and the elf obeyed, padding across the carpet with silent feet. 

"What have I told you about slouching?" Danarius admonished, when Fenris reached him. He took the point of Fenris' left ear between his fingers to twist it. Fenris' expression didn't change, but he straightened his back, drawing himself to his full height. He was tall, for an elf; almost as tall as Hawke.

"Kiss me," Danarius commanded.

Fenris obeyed without hesitation, his head tilted in submission. Truly Danarius was a powerful mage - to bring such a spirited elf to heel, Hawke thought. His cock tightened his breeches as he watched the Magister slip his tongue between his slave's lips. 

Danarius withdrew, hands on Fenris' shoulders. He gave the elf's cheek an approving pat. "Good boy," he murmured.

"You look well, Fenris," Hawke said. There was no response from the elf - not even a flicker of acknowledgement.

"This is why I summoned you," Danarius said to Hawke, kneading the back of Fenris' neck with long fingers. "The boy has said not a word in weeks." He kissed the top of the warrior's head, smoothed his silver hair. "Have you, my pet?"

Fenris remained silent, his expression opaque.

Danarius looked to Hawke. "It took me some time to notice that he would not speak when spoken to. He is a quiet one, as you know; and he has been as attentive in his duties as ever before. When I did notice, of course I believed he was rebelling against me again." The magister ran his hands down Fenris' back to rest on his hips. 

"That night was not pleasant for you, was it, pet?" Danarius kissed Fenris' throat. "My poor Fenris. When I believed his silence was born of disobedience, I am afraid I was not kind to him," he said to Hawke. "But all the tortures I could conceive did nothing to bring forth that lovely, low voice, and I was left to draw one of two conclusions - that my little wolf was engaged in purposeless rebellion, and had the staunchest will in maintaining it; or that in taking his memories from him again, I had somehow damaged his mind. The process is complex, and little is known of how repeated applications affect the subject."

Fenris looked at Hawke as a hound patiently observes a stranger in his master's home: watchful, alert, but without aggression. For now.

Hawke shrugged. "And you brought me here because…?"

"Fenris is valuable to me," Danarius said, stroking the bare, lyrium-traced skin of Fenris' upper arm. "Not just for these markings. He is skilled, as you know. But if his mind is broken, he is… considerably less useful. Help me remove his armour, would you, my friend?"

Hawke's eyebrows raised, his interest piqued. His pulse began to thud with anticipation. "With pleasure," he murmured, and together, Danarius and Hawke unbuckled the elf's spiked black pauldrons, his breastplate, and the belt that held his black leather jerkin closed. 

"I know that Fenris began to remember things," Danarius said, "during his time in Kirkwall. Whatever you did to him, it changed him." They took a gauntlet each, pulling them off to reveal his long-boned hands in fingerless gloves. Around his wrists were the shackles that he had always worn, even when he had lived in Kirkwall, pretending to be free. 

"So you thought I could fuck him back to his senses?" Hawke said, with a smirk. He opened Fenris' jerkin and pushed it back. Lyrium markings formed a bonelike pattern down Fenris' throat, and curved over his shoulders and collarbone. "Just so you know, I usually have the opposite effect on people." Hawke slipped the jerkin from Fenris' body and handed it to Danarius. 

"Don't be vulgar," Danarius said, tossing the jerkin onto the window seat. "There," he whispered, as Fenris stood before them in nothing but gloves, cuffs, and black leather breeches. "Beautiful." 

Long, white channels of lyrium traced over Fenris' chest, his nipples like little pinkish-brown thorns on a vine. Hawke remembered the feeling of those nipples, firm between his lips. The lyrium pattern framed the sleek muscles of Fenris' abdomen, running down below the waist of his breeches, hinting at more. Hawke swallowed, realising how much he had missed having that lithe, angular body at his disposal. If Danarius thought Hawke could achieve something by bending the elf over a sideboard, he was happy to oblige.

"Turn around, Fenris," Danarius said. 

Fenris' back was strong and straight. The bright white markings curved and curled, highlighting the structure of his shoulder blades and the ridge of his spine. His breeches were snug enough to show the cleft of his slender ass and the muscle tone of his thighs and calves.

"Strip," said Danarius.

Fenris bent at the waist as he peeled off the rest of the soft leather. 

Lyrium traced the cheeks of his ass and the backs of his legs, curling around his lean thighs all the way down his ankles and feet.

"Stunning, isn't he," Danarius said, placing one hand on the back of Fenris' neck, and taking the elf by his upper arm with the other. Fenris twitched, his markings lighting where Danarius had touched him. 

"He is my best work. It would be such a shame to have to kill him." 

Danarius guided Fenris to the window box and bent him over. 

"Now, where did that silly girl leave the oil," he said. Hawke spotted a small bottle on the table and tossed it to the magister, smirking.

"Ahh, good," Danarius said. He shifted his robes, palmed the oil over his cock, and slipped inside Fenris without ceremony. Fenris was silent, but his slender back arched, and the markings lit up all over his body.

Danarius began to take him with controlled thrusts; not too rough. Just firm. Practiced. 

Hawke drew closer to watch, his belly twisting with mixed excitement and resentment. Did the old bastard want Hawke to fuck the elf, or not? He looked out the window. Minrathous was spread out below them, the streets lined with flickering lights.

"To me there is nothing sweeter in this world," Danarius whispered, kissing the tip of Fenris' ear, "than to fill this taut, tight bottom with seed." He patted Fenris' hip. The elf's head was bowed, and still he was silent; but he had begun to move with Danarius, rocking back into his master's slow thrusts. 

Hawke brushed a hand through Fenris' silver hair, then took a handful of it and lifted his face. Hawke felt an unexpected burst of fondness at the sight of those dark brows and lean elven features. The elf's eyes were shut, his lips parted. His breath now came in quick, soft gasps of pleasure-pain that he'd been trying to suppress.

"Look at me, Fenris," Hawke commanded, and Fenris - to Hawke's thrilled amazement - obeyed. A flare of recognition stirred from deep within his dazed green eyes. There he was. Fenris. So strong, so proud; and now, once more a slave. Hawke squeezed his handful of hair and crouched to kiss Fenris, pushing the tip of his tongue between parted lips. Fenris let out a low, soft moan.

"Perhaps he does remember you," Danarius said with a chuckle, stroking the elf's back. Fenris shuddered with sensation, and the lyrium markings down his back glowed white-blue for a moment. 

"I'm a memorable man," Hawke said, locking eyes with Fenris. Was that a burst of hatred in those elven eyes? It was so fleeting, so quickly replaced with calm that Hawke decided he had imagined it.

Danarius beckoned for Hawke. "Come," he said. "It matters not; you are my guest. Share him." The magister paused in his thrusts and parted Fenris' ass with his hands. Hawke dropped Fenris' hair.

"So, you want to rub cocks inside your slave's ass," Hawke said with a smirk, strolling to drape an arm around Danarius' shoulders. The magister's shaft was oiled, half-deep between Fenris' firm cheeks. Hawke ran a hand through Danarius' hair, left a kiss behind one ear. "But definitely no dallying," he whispered. 

"Custom and tradition, my friend," Danarius said. "This _is_ Tevinter. We claim superior breeding, not moral consistency." He rocked back inside Fenris with a sigh, thrusting in deep. Oil spilled over the hair at the base of his cock. "But if you don't want to, I will finish him myself."

"No fear of that," Hawke said. He unbuckled his belt, dropped his trousers and kicked them off. "I'll dally." He palmed his own cock, pleased with its length and fullness; he hadn't been this aroused in weeks. 

"Impressive," said Danarius with a chuckle, moving to make room for Hawke beside him. 

Hawke did not hesitate. He edged his body snug against the magister's, from thigh to hip to shoulder, an arm around his waist. Hawke kissed him; a full, open-mouthed kiss that Danarius neither resisted, nor returned with any great enthusiasm. Hawke grinned. At least he knew how to make the man uncomfortable.

"My poor little Fenris," Danarius said in mock sympathy, glancing again at the size of Hawke's erect shaft. He handed Hawke the bottle of oil. "Use it generously, if you please. I could easily heal him, of course, but I do prefer him nice and slick."

Hawke obliged, filling his palm with oil and coating his cock. Then he took the tip between finger and thumb, pressing it against the ring of Fenris' ass, nudging at the same time against Danarius' shaft. With a thrust, he joined the magister, groaning as he forced Fenris open around them both. 

Fenris was silent, voicing not so much as a gasp of pain; but his body tensed, and the room was lit with a flash of lyrium that left Hawke blinded for a moment. The light subsided as quickly as it had awoken, Fenris' markings fading into a glow of pale blue skin. Hawke blinked, seeing the lyrium pattern stamped in his vision. 

"I anger him," Hawke said. He had seen what Fenris was capable of.

"Perhaps," Danarius said. He laid a gentle hand on Fenris' lower back, making soothing circles. "There, my pet," he murmured. "Is it really so bad?"

Hawke grasped Fenris' hips to draw himself deeper, the oil on his fingers making for slippery purchase.

"When did you decide to give him back to me?" Danarius asked, between grunts of effort as they worked to find a rhythm. Sharing like this required some coordination. Although compliant, Fenris was tense; the slightest wrong angle would cause one or both of them to slip out. 

"These," Hawke answered, running a hand down one of Fenris' cable-strong arms to flick a fingernail against one of the cuffs he wore. The metal rang in the night. "He kept them on, under his armour. The first time I saw them, I knew he was still a slave. Another man's property. To keep such a prize would have been theft; and I am no thief."

"Spoken like a magister, my friend," Danarius said, with a chuckle. "Perhaps you're more like we Tevinters than you think."

"Then speak for me to the Magisterium," Hawke said.

Danarius shot him a look. "We'll talk of it another time," he said.

Hawke frowned. "But -"

Spirit energy brushed against his mind like a caress. "Not now," Danarius said.

Hawke growled and pushed back with his own energy, rocking his hips into Fenris as he did so. The elf let out a gasp of pain.

Danarius chuckled, absorbing Hawke's mental shove without effort; and for the first time, Hawke had an inkling of how strong the magister was. That push would have stunned most people, even most mages. Just how powerful were the Tevinter magisters?

Hawke's head spun from a near overload of sensation. His cock was sliding against another man's. Fenris' tight ring was stretched around both hard shafts, and the elf was making pained noises in his throat. His arms shook as he braced them on the window-seat; powerless. 

Beside him, Danarius groaned and shuddered. Mana began to flow from him, immersing Hawke in waves of power. Hawke had met few mages who could come without releasing their mana. For his own part, he had never bothered to try to hold it in; there was no better feeling than to let it spill like seed. 

Danarius reached for Hawke with mana, amid the slow rise and fall of their bodies. Arching and rising, surging slowly into Fenris, careful not to break the rhythm. Their cocks against one another. Oil and sweat, and now mana. Mana was everywhere; inside Hawke, around him. He let some of his flow pour into Fenris, feeling him shudder in disgust. 

Danarius' whole body shook. His belly quivered, he tensed all over, and he groaned deep in his throat. Hawke felt hot fluid flow over his cock, and Fenris' tight hole was suddenly even slicker. Danarius braced his thumbs and parted his buttocks wider; it was a glorious sight, the stretched ring flushed pink and bubbling with come. Hawke lost control, crying out as mana and seed left his body. He collapsed over Fenris' back, wrapping his arms around the elf, his belly snug against hot skin. Everything went dark.

"Maker," Hawke rasped. He was empty of mana; he could not have lit a candle. 

Slowly, Hawke's senses returned. He found that his hand was twisted in a fistful of silver hair. Danarius had slipped out of Fenris' ass, but Hawke's cock remained buried in sticky warmth. Fenris was pinned beneath Hawke's body, shaking and silent.

"What say you, pet?" whispered Danarius, stroking the elf's arm. There was no reply. The magister chuckled. "Ah, well." He clapped Hawke's shoulder. "Come to bed - the night is young."

***

The fire had long since burnt itself out, and the guest chambers were dark as pitch when Fenris opened his eyes. 

His skin ached. Danarius had shared him before, of course; with other Magisters, men and women he wanted to impress or reward. It always hurt. Tonight Fenris felt as though he'd been flayed raw. His lyrium markings were dull, now, but they still felt tender, as they always did when they'd been activated. 

Fenris shuddered. He could not decide what made his skin crawl the most - hands all over his body, the violation of sex, or the mana they had poured into him like seed. He rolled onto his back, holding back a groan as the sheets brushed his body. The silk might as well have been sandpaper.

There was another kind of pain, one that Fenris thought he'd grown numb to long ago; the kind that burned in the pit of your stomach, that made you turn your anger and hate inwards until your shoulders slumped and your head hung, and you could think of nothing else. Fenris knew it well. Shame.

He had been an idiot to trust Hawke in Kirkwall; to let himself believe that any mage could be different. Perhaps he deserved the consequences. But of one thing he was certain: It would never, ever happen again.

Fenris looked from one mage to the other, where they lay sprawled and satisfied, drained of mana, yet asleep without a care in the world.

Fools.

He pulled himself to his knees, gasping in pain as the sheets raked across his skin.

Hawke woke first, dazed with sleep. Fenris watched his face as alarm began to register in his amber-brown eyes. On the other side of the bed, Danarius stirred awake, and the whites of his eyes gleamed wide with shock. 

"You wanted me to talk, Danarius," Fenris said, his voice rasping from disuse. "But I've only one thing to say." 

Lyrium flared, blinding-bright, as Fenris raised both hands and clenched them into fists. 

"Vadeve Venhedis," he hissed. And he struck.

**Author's Note:**

> "Vadeve Venhedis" means "to the Void with you" in Tevene.


End file.
